


Beyond These Pages

by sierralie



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierralie/pseuds/sierralie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my contribution to the Asunder Creative Writing contest hosted by BioWare in January 2012.  I'm honoured to have placed in the top 20, in the company of some very talented authors.</p>
<p>I'd have liked to edit this piece more before submission, but I had a bit of a flood in my house the evening entries were due.  Industrial-strength blowers and dehumidifiers and general distress about water streaming into my living room through the ceiling does not make for a pleasant editing environment.</p>
<p>My terribly unhelpful abstract: Senior Enchanter Marielle understands books and words better than anything else.  Learning drives her, feeds her passion for magic.  Her hunger to understand makes her an anomaly: she chose to enter the Tower as a child, and her only loyalty is to the Circle.  When she must investigate a threat within the Tower that endangers what she holds most dear, what will she discover?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond These Pages

The room was small, with dusty cobwebbed corners and aging decorations, but it was her favourite of all the Tower’s multitudes of rooms for one reason.  It contained a rare treasure: a window.  At this hour of the morning, the shaft of sunlight admitted by that aperture fell directly on the resting place of her well-worn reading chair.  Her finger traced along the page of the book she was reading, her lips moving as she followed the words with fascination.  Tall and unsteady-looking piles of books flanked the chair, many with narrow strips of paper shoved between pages as markers.

She fumbled in the pockets of her long robes, muttering under her breath as she withdrew a sheaf of paper and started to fill the margins with quick, neat handwriting.  “Yes – yes!  If I change the words of this incantation to match the requirements of the first, like so… a-ha!  That should account for the problem with manifestation.”  She shuffled through the papers, extracted a single worn sheet and crossed out several lines.  “There.  Now, just one final variable…”

“Senior Enchanter?”  A voice came from the doorway.  When no answer seemed forthcoming, the man stepped into the room with a polite cough.  “Enchanter Marielle?”

She raised her head, the rapid scratch of pen-nib on paper quieting as her hand stilled.  “I am occupied, Vanel.  Are you here with a message?”   

Vanel stepped forward and bowed courteously.  “The Knight-Commander requests your presence.  In the First Enchanter’s absence, you are to attend this afternoon’s Harrowing.”  His voice took on an exasperated tone.  “I reminded you this morning.”

Marielle closed her book and returned it to the pile, then folded the papers neatly before returning them to her pocket.  “You did, Vanel.  I’m sorry.  I’m so close to understanding why this spell won’t work.”

“I’ll inform the Knight-Commander that you’ll be arriving shortly, Enchanter.”  Vanel inclined his head and strode from the room.

Marielle sighed.  Apprentices these days – hardly the slightest interest in real scholarship and discovery!  She retrieved another set of papers from a nearby table and cast a quick glance around the room before hurrying out.  The Knight-Commander was well-known to be unfailingly timely, and unforgiving of tardiness from anyone. 

Three flights of steps guided her up to the Tower’s narrowing peak and the Harrowing Chamber.  A robed apprentice stood just inside the entrance, turning at the sound of the opening door.

Marielle smiled with sincere pleasure at the sight of her student.  Even after being raised to Senior, she maintained at least one class for select students aspiring to advanced study in conjuration.  She clasped the apprentice’s hands in her own, offering an encouraging smile.  “Lily!  I’m so very proud of you.  You’ve been a delight to teach.”

Lily’s returning smile wavered as she looked across the room at the armoured Templars.  “I’m - I’m a little nervous, Enchanter Marielle.” 

“Oh, child.  Remember your lessons - and above everything else, take nothing in the Fade for what it seems to be.” 

The girl shook her head.  “I’m ready for my Harrowing.  I’m ready to be a mage.  It just seems so final – I’m really and truly agreeing I’ll never have a life beyond this place.”

Marielle patted her shoulder encouragingly.  “I’ve been happy here, Lily, and I think you will be too.  Where else could we live in a community of colleagues, share ideas with the best magical minds in all of Thedas – and have access to such a library?”

Lily ventured another glance across the room.  “I hope to find such contentment as you have, Senior Enchanter.  So many of the mages I’ve spoken with have…”

Before the thought was given voice, one of the Templars strode across the room and Marielle stepped forward to greet him.  “Knight-Commander.  I trust everything is in order?”

He responded with a curt nod.  “Yes.  Apprentice, please approach.”

Lily took her place at the heart of the Chamber as the Templar spoke the words to begin the formal trial, explaining what would transpire and the consequences of failure.  As she listened, Marielle remembered the mix of apprehension and anticipation she’d felt on the day of her own Harrowing, as full then as she was now with a voracious hunger, a _need_ to learn more about magic.

Lily’s fingers reached for the basin where the pool of lyrium glimmered, offering up a brilliant conduit into the Fade.  Her eyes closed.  Minutes passed, and the Chamber’s silence lent the very room itself a veil of anticipation. 

Sound broke out, harsh and sudden.

One of the Templars gave a shout, followed quickly by the ringing sound of swords pulled from their scabbards. 

The figure in the centre of the room no longer resembled any human girl.  The body contorted, limbs undulating wildly, flesh bubbling outward into grotesque and twisted shapes.  The sound the abomination made as it reached for the nearest Templar chilled Marielle to the core. 

This was why they had been vigilant.  The creature was dead almost before its transformation was complete.

Words spilled from her lips before she knew she’d started to speak.  “This can’t be.  She was one of the best.  She understood, she was _ready_.  I was so sure.  We all were.”

A gauntleted hand gripped her shoulder and shook.  “Compose yourself, Senior Enchanter.  Strike the girl’s name from the apprentice lists and record the failed trial.”

There was duty, and a task to perform.  “Yes, of course.  It will be done.”  She kept talking, even though she felt foolish, her tongue clumsy as she tried to form the words.  “I’m very sorry.  I’ve never seen an apprentice fail their Harrowing before.”  Marielle turned and fled down the worn stone steps before dismay overcame her.

 

***

 

_Clink_.  _Clink_.  The tines of her fork knocked against the plate as Marielle chased tiny peas back and forth, not intent enough on the action to successfully capture any.  She turned thoughts over in her mind like playing cards: Lily’s last class.  The consensus among the senior mages to approve her for the Harrowing.  The sight of her corrupted by a foul demon.  Marielle dropped the fork and rubbed forcefully at her temples.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Marielle.”  A mug of steaming tea appeared in her field of view.  “It’s not your fault.”

Marielle rested her palms against the hot mug, accepting the gift and pushing aside the unwanted plate of supper.  “I should have taught her more, prepared her better.”  She looked across the table at her friend.  “I just don’t understand, Alais.”

“We do what we can, but on that day it all comes down to strength of will.  We can never prepare them for every twisted scheme a demon might concoct.  We can only guide them toward discernment.”  Alais’s voice was soothing, reassuring.

“She was one of the brightest students we’ve admitted in over a year.  It’s a loss for the Circle.  So much potential.”

Alais emitted a sound much akin to a snort.  “Admitted?  Marielle, you’ll never call it what it is – the Templars dragged that girl in.  Every one of us heard her screaming.”

Marielle frowned, although this was not a new debate between them.  “I chose to come to the Tower so I could learn.  We need to learn how to attract apprentices who yearn to understand their talents.”

“You’re changing the subject.  It’s not your fault that Lily failed her Harrowing.  It’s not, I swear to you.  Just last month there were two other failures, both nearly as talented as poor Lily – are you going to suggest that Gemma or Lukin didn’t know how to train an apprentice either?”

_Two other failures_.

Marielle stood up so quickly that she nearly tripped over the hem of her robe.  “I have to go.  I’ll be – I’ll see you later, Alais.  Thank you.”  She dashed from the dining hall almost before she’d finished speaking.

A bemused Alais remained behind, retrieving the forgotten tea for herself.

 

***

 

The door to the Harrowing Chamber swung open, and Marielle stepped through, looking around with no small measure of trepidation.  Could she see the stains on the stone floor where the Templars had… no, it was only a trick of the light.  She walked until her feet ached, tracing the circumference of the room again and again.  _Three apprentices_.  She stared at the walls, at the ceiling.  _It can’t be a coincidence.  Not all of them_.  She examined the chamber from every angle.  _Foolish woman_ , she chided herself.  _What did you think you’d find here?_

She paused in the centre of the room, resting her hand against the now-empty basin.  Perhaps her imagination had gotten the best of her, in her distress.  As she turned to leave, her fingers rubbed along a sticky patch on the smooth stone. 

She rubbed her fingertips together to clean them, frowning.  _That’s odd._   She bent down and inhaled deeply, smiling first at the delightful traces of lyrium that lingered from long years of use.  There was something else.  She sniffed her fingers.

_Brittleleaf._ She sniffed again, identifying a weaker second scent, a sense of dread coiling in her belly.

 

***

 

The alchemy laboratory was warm, redolent with countless aromas: some pleasant, some acrid, some tantalizingly hard to identify.  Thick, dark liquid bubbled in an alembic on one bench, and a deep cauldron suspended above the coals in the fireplace emitted occasional sharp crackling sounds.  Shelves lined the walls filled with vials and flasks, each one bearing a small label naming the potion within.  The long table in the centre of the room was the only point of disorganization, strewn with scrawled recipe pages and aging tomes, assorted tools and implements.

“Saira?  Are you here?”

A woman emerged from one of the side rooms, dusting her hands off smartly on a long apron.  “Marielle?  Maker’s breath, I can’t remember the last time I saw your face in here.  What I do remember is a certain unwilling apprentice who hated my lessons.”

Marielle laughed.  “You rapped my knuckles with the pestle every time I made a mistake grinding herbs.  Can you blame me?”

“And you stopped wasting my herbs right quick, didn’t you.  What brings you by?”

There was nothing but to get to the point.  “Has anyone been requisitioning brittleleaf and numbroot from the stores?”

The alchemist’s demeanor transformed in an instant, the smile dropping from her lips.  “Not by my leave they haven’t.  Marielle, that’s a serious charge.  One alone is bad enough, but both – I’m guessing you know what that makes?”

Marielle nodded.  “I checked the library.  Two sources, to be sure.”  A long silence served as punctuation while she worked up the nerve to answer aloud.  “A sticky, colourless mixture.  A draught to sap the will.”

“Forbidden.”  Saira fished a key out of her pocket and strode to a small cabinet.  “A recipe that should have been stricken from the books.”  The key clicked in the lock, and she swung the door open. 

Marielle paled as Saira turned, a pair of empty bottles in her hands.  “Are those…”

Saira nodded grimly.  “These should be full.   There’s only two people who could have gotten that key.”

 

***

 

A tap at the door announced Marielle’s second appointment of the afternoon.  The first had offered her an answer she’d wanted to hear rather than the one she dreaded.  She drew in a fortifying breath.  “Come in.”

A tall, lanky mage entered, ducking his head to avoid a painful encounter with the lintel of the doorway.  “Senior Enchanter.  You asked for me?”

“Devin.  Thank you for coming.  I’m trying to clear up a small matter.”  He watched her expectantly, and she forced the question out.  “I’ll get right to it, shall I?  Have you been using brittleleaf and numbroot from the herbalist stores?”

She didn’t know what she expected as an answer.  His casual response still caught her off-guard.

“What of it?”

“Devin, those are dangerous herbs and should have been formally requested.  What are you creating?”

He shrugged.  “Someone was going to come asking eventually.  If you’re asking, you know.”

Marielle gaped at him.  “Why would you make a draught that only hurts mages?  How could you condemn those apprentices?”

He nearly snarled at her, springing from the chair.  “What would you know?  You wanted to be here.  You want to know more, always more.  The other Enchanters up there in their rooms, we hear about the things they do, the twisted things they try just because they can.  And they wonder why we’re locked up, why the demons come for us?  I didn’t want to be a mage.  I begged, _prayed_ , for the Maker to take this curse from me.”

She stood to meet him, his anger making her feel vulnerable and threatened.  “The Tower gives us the chance to control our magic, to better ourselves.  We are not cursed, Devin.  This is a gift.”

“They lock us in here to rot because we can’t be trusted.”  He pointed an accusing finger toward her.  “People like you.  I found a way to change that.  Cripple the magic.  Make it so there’s no danger.  Make magic a tool –what it’s supposed to be.  Enchantments.  Healing.  _Useful_ things.”  

She sat down again heavily as understanding came into focus, appalled by what she was hearing.  “You… poisoned the strongest apprentices so they’d fail their Harrowing and only the weak would remain.  Maker, Devin, what have you _done_?”  She clutched her stomach to stop from being ill.  “I must inform the Templars of this.”

He laughed, then, bitter and mocking.  “Who do you think I gave the draught to?  How could I have gotten it into the Harrowing Chamber?”

Marielle watched him stand and walk out, shock rendering her speechless.  It was the first moment she had ever truly felt herself a prisoner in the Tower.

 

***

 

Days passed, and then weeks.  She felt helpless and miserable.  She couldn’t free herself from the memory of Devin’s words.

Marielle unlocked the private drawer of her writing desk with a tiny surge of magic.  She extracted a single worn sheet of paper, one she’d confiscated months ago from a group of unhappy apprentices.  Until tonight, she’d dismissed it as nonsense aimed at nothing beyond troublemaking.  Now, she studied the carefully copied lines of text, reading each sentence again and again as if to burn the words into memory.

A blank page of writing paper lay on the desk before her, and the guttering candle offered just enough light for her to begin a letter.

 

_To the Healer of Darktown:_

_Serah,_

_It has come to my attention that you are engaged in assisting certain unfortunates in Kirkwall, individuals with whom I share a certain characteristic.  I have come into possession of a page from a Manifesto which I am given to understand is of your authorship.  I greatly desire to read more regarding your thoughts on the rights of these individuals, and your plans for Kirkwall and the rest of Thedas…_


End file.
